


coach stark

by hailingstars



Series: unbelievably unlikely (febuwhump 2020) [10]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: F/M, Football | Soccer, Gen, Parent Tony Stark, Tony Stark is Good With Kids, Tony and Peter become soccer coaches, do they know anything about soccer, febuwhump 2020, nope - Freeform, retired tony stark, stabbed, tw: ignorance regarding gender stereotypes by an antagonist character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:34:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22683313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailingstars/pseuds/hailingstars
Summary: “When did you get a clipboard?”“Dunno,” said Peter, with a shrug. “Found by it the trash can. Does it make me look more official?”“Sure kid.”“Maybe I should write down the plays,” said Peter. Tony blinked at him. “We do have plays, right?”“… do they even have plays in soccer?”“I don’t know… I think so?” said Peter. He eyed the whistle hung around Tony’s neck. “When can I get one of those?”“How about never.”ORTony recruits Peter to be his assistant coach for Morgan's soccer team, furthering his on-going rivalry with a parent of a child at her school.
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: unbelievably unlikely (febuwhump 2020) [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619662
Comments: 101
Kudos: 645





	coach stark

**Author's Note:**

> JAN IS BACK!!!!! 
> 
> this has turned into a series lmao I have one more of these planned!! 
> 
> (also read the tags and tw)

Tony and Pepper’s bedroom was dark. Pepper had only just, seconds ago, switched on her lamp, put her glasses on her nightstand, and sunk down into the covers, with her head resting on Tony’s shoulder. These moments, in the quiet and in the dark with Pepper, were some of the moments of his retirement that he treasured.

That he savored.

Usually. This one had a bit more heaviness to it. He had a confession to make, and there was no better time than lying in the dark, almost asleep.

“Do you remember when you told me to stop antagonizing Jan?”

Pepper let out a weary sigh, sat up and switched the lamp back on. “What have you done?”

It was a simple story, really. One that started with Tony signing up to be a soccer coach a couple of days after Morgan came home from school and told him Aiden’s mom was going to coach. He’d made the call that night, and a few weeks later, he was sitting around a table with other parents/coaches, building his team roaster.

The draft worked the same every year, one of the other father’s explained to him. They picked numbers out of a hat to determine the order in which they would pick. Once that was figured out, it was an unspoken rule that the first-round picks went to the coach’s children.

After that, it was a free game.

Tony, drawing the number three pick, gladly choose Morgan first. All the other coaches followed the unspoken rule. All the other coaches choose their child first.

Jan didn’t. She picked a boy who looked like he someone might be a line-backer for the New England Patriots.

Tony gripped the table but ignored it, until rounds two and three passed, and she still didn’t pick her son Aidan.

By round four, Tony had had enough.

“Tony,” said Pepper, interrupting him. She sat crossed legged on the bed. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

“I had to, Pep,” he told her. “If she can’t pick him first, she doesn’t deserve to have him.”

Pepper titled her head at him. “Are we talking about Jan and Aidan? Or Tony and Howard?”

“We’re talking about kid’s soccer. It’s _her_ that’s taking it too seriously.”

“Hopefully Aiden isn’t too upset,” said Pepper, after a prolonged silence and a resigned sigh.

She gave him a kiss on the cheek, shut the light back off, and crawled under the covers, leaving Tony alone in the dark. He hadn’t thought about what Aiden might think about not being on his mother’s team. He’d been caught up in the moment, caught up in the injustice, the carelessness, of a parent not putting their child first.

He rubbed his temple. Maybe Pepper had a point.

His worry about Aiden being upset, at least, were relieved the next afternoon, when Morgan came home from school, bouncing with energy.

“Dad! Guess what?”

“Dunno what?”

“Aiden and I are on the same soccer team!” she said.

“Oh, you are?” asked Tony. He gave a pointed look in Pepper’s direction. “And you’re both excited about that?”

“Him more than me,” said Morgan, climbing up on a kitchen stool and reaching for an apple. “He’s been yelling all day that Coach Iron Man picked him for soccer.”

Tony smirked at Pepper, telling her I-told-you-so, without saying any words out loud. Sometimes, none were needed.

*

The lake house was filled with screaming children.

It was filled with junk food and sleeping bags all over the living room floor and ignored soccer balls on the front lawn. Tony’s team, the Iron Monarchs, weren’t very interested in practicing, so they were inside making Root Beer floats and playing Mario Karts. Pepper had two kids over at the kitchen table painting fingernails, and some of the other parents who stuck around hosted a dance party outside on the porch.

“Mr. Stark,” said Peter, his eyes wide and his voice filled with terror, as kids zoomed past him waving lightsabers in the air. “What’s going on here exactly? What’s the emergency?”

“Emergency?” Tony echoed. He stirred the ice cream at the bottom of his float, before slamming the tall glass on the table. “This needs more ice cream. You want one, Pete?”

“You said I needed to get here ASAP,” said Peter. Apparently he was really hung up on the while emergency fib.

“Oh yeah,” said Tony. “Wait here.”

He abandoned his Root Beer float and went upstairs. He was back in the kitchen in less than three minutes, holding a red polo with a gold emblem stitched onto the front. Tony pulled it over Peter’s head before he could do anything other than wiggle his arms in protest.

“Mr. Stark!” said Peter, pulling his arms through the sleeves and pulling the shirt the rest of the way down. “What’s this?” Peter looked down and read the logo. “Iron Monarchs Assistant Coach Parker.” He looked back up at Tony. “I get to be a coach?”

“Yep,” said Tony. “You’re my first and only choice.”

Peter straightened out his polo. “I don’t really know anything about soccer…”

“That’s alright. Do you know about Root Beer floats?”

“You realize it’s just ice cream and Root Beer, right? It’s not rocket science.”

“Pete,” said Tony. He tugged on his sleeve and brought him closer to the table, where the soda bottle and ice cream tub sat. “It’s all about ratios.”

Peter laughed and grabbed an empty glass. He took Tony’s directions about how much soda and ice cream to put it, and once he was done, they clanked their glasses together.

“So you’re agreeing, Coach Parker?”

“Sure, why not?”

Tony put a hand on his shoulder. “Good, we have practice twice a week and a game bright and early every Saturday morning.”

He gave him a pat on the back and raced out of the kitchen, before Peter could process that his Saturday mornings were gone for the foreseeable future. Tony joined the dance party on the porch.

If he knew soccer was that much fun, he’d signed up to be a coach a long time ago.

*

Once the sun went away, and the dance party died down, Tony wandered back inside with a horde of kids and a few tired parents. He sent them upstairs, to the guestrooms, and told the kids it was time to find their sleeping bags, receiving a series of groans and whines in return.

The loudest protest came from Assistant Coach Parker who was on the coach, Nintendo Switch controllers in hand, shamelessly beating six-year-olds at Mario Karts.

“Thirty more minutes, Mr. Stark,” said Peter.

“Yeah, Coach Dad, please?” said Morgan, looking up at him with wide, brown eyes.

“Okay fine,” said Tony. He was no match for puppy dog eyes, and who was he to ruin all the pre-game day, sleepover fun?

Besides the cheers from his team was more than worth it.

He left the living room with a smile and walked into the kitchen, where Pepper was aggressively cleaning up and Aidan sat at the table by himself, staring at the bottles of nail polish that laid about.

“Hey, honey,” said Tony, in a voice so quiet it might have been a whisper. He watched Pepper slam a few empty pizza boxes down in the trash can. “What did those pizza boxes ever do to you?”

Pepper’s eyes shot over to Aidan, then back to Tony. She grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the kitchen.

“I asked Aidan if he wanted to paint nails with us,” started Pepper. “Because he was hanging around and looked interested, and he said he couldn’t. That his mother doesn’t like it and tells him isn’t allowed. That it’s only for girls. You should’ve seen his face. He was crushed just talking about it. Like he’d been stabbed through his heart.” 

Tony nodded in understanding.

“You might want to commit this to your memory,” said Pepper. “It’ll probably be the only time you hear me say it, but you were right. Jan’s a bitch.”

Tony didn’t know which he liked hearing better, his wife telling him he was right or that he had a new recruit in the fight against Jan.

“I know what to do,” said Tony, clapping his hands together. “I know how to help.”

He left Pepper standing outside and zipped back into the kitchen. He went into the living room, into the pit of all the excited screaming and yelling and blew the whistle he became accustomed to wearing around his neck. The kids chatter died down, Aidan came into the living room from the kitchen, and Tony had the attention of fifteen sugar high children and one teenager.

Tony gave an inspiring speech, worthy of some underdog team sports film.

One about all the fun they’d been having all night, but now it was time to get serious. They had a game at 8 AM the next morning, after all, and they needed to devote some time to team unity. Something festive, to promote team spirit, like painting their fingernails the team colors.

He was met with an uproarious cheer, and before he could blink, there was a stampede into the kitchen for the fingernail polish.

“Coach Stark?”

Aidan had left the masses gathering at the kitchen table and carried a bottle of red fingernail polish in his hand.

“Will you paint mine?” he asked. He shuffled his feet, the way Peter used to when he was afraid or nervous. “I don’t want – I don’t wanna get it on my skin.”

“Sure, kid,” said Tony. They sit down altogether, up high on the barstools that lined the counter. “You gotta promise to do mine after.”

Aidan beamed at him and nodded his head, but he became still when Tony started applying the paint to his tiny fingernails. Years of working on tech, and months of being skilled with a pair of knitting needles, made his precision perfect and Aidan got his wish. No polish got on his skin.

Tony couldn’t say the same. By the time Aidan got done painting his nails, Tony’s hands were covered in red blotches.

Thirty minutes later, the team fell asleep. Passed out collectively on the coaches and the sleeping bags, at a little bit past 12 AM.

Tony considered his job as coach finished, and headed upstairs to join Pepper, who gone up just a few minutes earlier. On his way, he spotted Peter sitting on the staircase, sporting his own sparkly gold nail polish and a loopy grin.

“What’re you so smiley about, Parker?”

“Nothing,” said Peter. Then laughed. “It’s just – you’re _that_ dad.”

“What dad?”

“You know,” said Peter. He stood up. “The house all the kids want to hang out at.” He paused. Patted Tony on the shoulder. “Good luck when Morgan’s a teenager.”

He ran off before Tony could say anything else.

*

Morning came too soon.

Tony didn’t want to get out of bed, and his team didn’t want to get up off the floor and into the team van, a vehicle he’d purchased just so he could drive parents and kids to post game celebrations.

Once they were all inside, Tony shoved a box of breakfast bars into Peter’s chest and had him throw them to the kids as he drove down the highway, towards the soccer fields.

When they arrived, the kids still looked like Tony had in college when he stumbled into lectures after a night of partying, and to make matters worse, they learned they were going up against Jan’s team.

They wore pitch black uniforms and were already doing drills before the Iron Monarchs even found the team bench.

“Um, Mr. Stark,” said Peter, while the kids collapsed to the ground to rest. “You think maybe they should be doing… whatever it is those other kids are doing?”

“Let them conserve their energy,” said Tony.

Peter nodded and looked at the clipboard in his hands.

“When did you get a clipboard?”

“Dunno,” said Peter, with a shrug. “Found by it the trash can. Does it make me look more official?”

“Sure kid.”

“Maybe I should write down the plays,” said Peter. Tony blinked at him. “We do have plays, right?”

“… do they even have plays in soccer?”

“I don’t know… I think so?” said Peter. He eyed the whistle hung around Tony’s neck. “When can I get one of those?”

“How about never.”

Peter frowned but Tony didn’t care. When he wanted to completely loss his hearing, he’d give Peter his own whistle. Before either of them to think any more about plays and how unprepared they were the ref blew his whistle, signifying the beginning of the game.

“Ok,” said Tony, clapping his hands together. “Who wants to play?”

A dozen or so kids raised their hands, and Tony sent them out on the field. One came back, after the ref explained to him that only eleven kids per team were allowed on the field. On the other side of the field, Jan was shaking her head.

“This is going to be a disaster, Mr. Stark.”

“Yeah, well,” said Tony. “Good thing we’re both great in a crisis.”

*

As it turned out, it wasn’t quite the disaster Peter predicted.

Kids knew how to chase a ball around and fight over it by instinct. They didn’t need plays. All they needed was a pat on the back and someone to tell them they were doing a good job. Tony didn’t even need to do any real coaching, and that was good, because he didn’t have any help in Peter.

His clipboard was abandoned on the ground, and the boy himself was in dirt searching for caterpillars with Aidan.

“Hey, amazing Aidan,” said Tony. “You sure you don’t want to play? I can switch you in. I think Morgan’s probably one foul away from being benched, anyway.”

Tony didn’t know where she got her aggressiveness, but many of Jan’s players, including the six-year-old linebacker, had met the grass due to her tripping them. 

“No thanks, Coach Stark,” he said. “I don’t really like soccer. My mom just wanted me to do something normal.”

“Oh kid – you’re normal… I-“

Aidan stood up from the ground and dusted dirt from his uniform. “It’s okay. I thought it was going to be boring, but you and Coach Peter make it really fun. Thanks for picking me.”

“Anytime, kid.”

The game ended in a near tie, with Jan’s team coming out with a last second goal to win. It didn’t seem to faze them that they had lost, though. They were smiling and laughing as they stepped off the field, as opposed to a solemn group of kids who went away celebrating their win.

“Alright who wants to go out and celebrate? Pizza?” asked Tony.

His team cheered, and Jan appeared with a sour face, like a witch summoned to suck the joy out of every situation.

“You’re rewarding them? For losing?” she asked, with a raised eyebrow.

“They’re just kids chasing a ball, Jan. We’re not competing in the Super Bowl.”

“It’s the World Cup, actually,” said Jan. “The Super Bowl is for football.”

“Soccer _is_ football in every other country,” said Peter, from somewhere behind him.

Tony didn’t see how that was particularly relevant, but he added a gotcha eyebrow raise for effect. Someone like Jan could only be defeated by nonsense, anyway.

She gave him one last glare, told Aidan to come home right after pizza, then stormed off to bark orders at her team.

Peter waited until Aidan was in the van and out of earshot before looking at Tony and saying, “It’s kind of sad, isn’t it? To get that old and not know what it means to truly win?”

“That’s really sweet, kid,” said Tony, patting his back. “But please don’t call Jan old. She’s at least twenty years younger than me.”

He pushed Peter into the passenger’s side door, and, after being flagged down by the ref and warned about Morgan unusually aggressive soccer tactics, climbed up into the driver’s seat, ready to drive off to a local pizzeria to celebrate their win.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! 
> 
> kudos and/or comments let me know what you think!! 
> 
> [come yell at me on tumblr](https://hailing-stars.tumblr.com)


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